Notes to a Melody
by BonJiro
Summary: A collection of drabblish shorts of the Zeldaverse. Episodic, 3000 word limit. Characters may vary, but mostly mains. In summary; 'All aboard the feels train'. Now showing: -Fate- (The Happy Mask Salesman's question seemed clear, though Link wondered if it was truly meant for him.)
1. Them

1: **Them**

_Malon had often wondered of her Husband's penchant for sky watching._

The breeze was a soft whisper across the plains of Hyrule field at night, bringing with it a sense of calm that would see most content to settle in the warmth of their beds, at ease. Many nights, when she was young, she would stand below the stars and serenade them. Malon had grown so used to the feel of the night's embrace, and thought nothing of wandering from the house in the wee hours of the morn, comforting as it had become to her.

It seemed strange then, that her husband seemed to scan the stars with paranoia, instead.

The warmed fabric of her dressing gown was soft against her hands, pocketed, as she watched him from the gate of the corral. He stood in the center of it, not inches off the spot that she used to, and idly, the woman wondered if the grass held a memory of their footprints. He'd not moved in over an hour, just the same as every time, head craned upward to peer through blonde bangs. All was silent, not even a chirping of crickets to be heard, and if one did not look for him they likely would not notice him at all.

There was an ethereal quality to it that mesmerized her, though she knew the man she'd married was a marvel of his own, out of place in the world and yet, able to call anywhere home. It made her hesitant to disturb him, something she wrestled with most nights, but this moon she had finally decided to ask the question that plagued every time she awoke alone, only to spy him from the window, staring at the skies.

"Link…" she called softly, her fragile jaw line tilting up as if his name were a kiss to be blown. "…Aren't you cold out here? …You got to be up early for the milk run, too…"

At first, there was no reply, as if he hadn't heard her at all, but as a nervous hand swept auburn fringe from her view, Malon saw his pointed ears perk up. He blinked once, as if snapping from some distant reverie, and with a slow motion turned his blue gaze upon her. A foreign stare echoed out between them, as if the man did not recognize her, but before she could question it, it was gone and replaced by the familiar smile of a loving husband.

"Oh… No, it's nice out tonight." He offered quietly, as if any level of volume may shatter the tranquil scene. The camber of moonlight caught a twinkle in his eye, something fond, yet distant. "What are you doing up?"

Though Malon's eyes scanned his handsome features for signs of sleep, she found only the boyish energy that the man seemed to carry everywhere with him, and with a small giggle and a shake of her head she found her feet moving toward him, like a moth to flame.

She smiled at him, unable to do anything else. "I was hoping to ask you the same." She whispered, pupils widened by the dark, flickering to trace his silhouette. Slender fingers found their place upon his shoulder, and when Link's attention turned heavenward again, Malon couldn't help but follow.

"…I was just thinking of… a girl I once knew." he mused carefully, a soft and faraway glint in his eye, like a regretful memory. His face was calm, almost serene, but the ghost of sadness haunted it. "You remind me of her, everyday, when you smile… It makes me think of what her life might have been like if she hadn't been taken."

Malon blinked, trying to follow his line of thought. "…Taken by who?"

"Them."

She glanced at him, her head lolling to rest on his shoulder over her head, the warmth of it comforting as always. Malon had always tried to understand him, the odd and at times, cryptic things he said… sometimes she wondered if it was only Link in there, for her husband seemed to hold many lives in memory. Still, she loved him all the same, even if it meant she would never fully understand him.

A slow sigh slipped from her husband's lips, as Link seemed to shake his head, allowing only the tiniest movement. "I tried to stop it, I really did. There were just too many of them, and the lights were so… bright…"

Malon opened her mouth to speak, wanting to take away the look in his eye, hesitant as she stared up at his profile, dimly lit by the moon.

"Well, there you go… You tried. I'm sure she knows that, wherever she is…" she breathed, her eyes closing in a moment of respite, though her brow furrowed some. "…You always do the best you can, but sometimes, things just don't work out like we want them to."

"I didn't keep my promise." He whispered, so soft she scarcely heard him.

Unable to do more, she consoled him, a light kiss placed to his neck and gave a forgiving reply. "…One broken promise isn't the end of the world, love."

He fell silent then, even his breath stilled as he squinted upward with pathos, muscles tensing as her words hit home. Sensing that there was nothing more she could say, Malon slipped away from him, a tender squeeze to his shoulder given before turning back toward the house. Link stayed a moment more as his wife padded away, fixated upon the full and yellow moon above, high and small.

"…Yes, it was."


	2. Home

2: **Home**

_He was finally home, but he knew he couldn't stay long._

The soft lilt of a lullaby still swept the fringe of his mind, and as he stared at his estranged bed, the boy wondered how he ever used to manage sleeping so late. His younger days were filled with things he'd left behind here—oversleeping, loneliness, bullying and the odd, careless dream.

_Younger days_… and yet, seven years on, he was the same age as then. It was a strange notion to wrap ones mind around, this business of time travel, but in these small moments of coincidence he found his mind wander the thin lines of fantasy.

It was the closest to a real Kokiri Link would ever feel.

With the ghost of a smile, he turned a crystal blue gaze to the rest of the small abode he'd once called home. The light of day, filtered by the forest canopy and holding the taste of oak on its scent, came spilling through the small square window above his childish bunk with a soft tone to illuminate the room. Mahogany grain coursed through every surface, the hard wood stump in the center of his house providing a humble table at which he would often eat—an empty clay bowl sat there still, stained aubergine and incarnadine from the berries it often held.

Tacked to the wall were dog-eared notes he'd made, scrawled with a hardly legible though uncomplicated lettering. Most documented achievements of some sort, penned with excitement and pride, though each seemed so very inconsequential now.

_I lifted up a rock twice the size of what Remi did today, and now he's spent the whole afternoon out the front of Mido's place, trying to do better—_underneath these words was a vague scribble of the event, once a masterpiece to the boy but now, only resembling the poorly formed stick figures dabbed with green they truly were.

Link paused, squinting closer, and a nostalgic laughter bubbled up from his chest. It was a tiny squeak of a sound, so used to the deeper boom of a man's rumble he was, and it almost made his throat feel tight to produce. Blonde bangs wisped about his brow as the boy shook his head, turning from the sight with lighter footfalls than he was accustomed, heading toward the door.

Standing upon the small balcony, so unstable and poorly designed the moss covered plateau was, he marveled at how it had never once collapsed. The air was still, tranquil, and he allowed his gaze to sweep the entirety of this timeless domain, as unchanging as the children it housed. Not even a single leaf seemed out of place; Saria's house still bore the hand painted lines, the orange pigment as fresh as the day he had helped her lay them, signed by their handprints.

Link's brow furrowed a moment as his fingers twitched by his side, and slowly, he found his small hand rise to be inspected. His palm was soft and his calluses were gone, erased by the sweet lullaby. As his tiny digits flexed wide, he studied them in silence; his fingers were chubby, short and weak with a youthful grip. He knew well it would grow into the hand of a man again one day, able to wield a sword with strength and dexterity, climb mountain rocks and handle dangerous explosives. So different a pair of hands were they, and yet, one and the same.

He wondered idly if this hand would fit the shape he'd left upon the wood of Saria's home, though for all his courage, he could not bring himself to find out.

A slow sigh passed his lips, blue eyes returning unfocused to the house of his dear childhood friend. She was inside, he knew, just the same as he had known her then and this time, never to become anything more. Saria would never once think he may rise before her, and soon she would come, padding softly from her doorway to wake him as she always did, a chipper smile on her face as called to him from the bottom of his ladder.

Link knew he could not risk lingering any longer.

Within the hour, the girl emerged, the verdant green of her hair bobbing with each step as she took to her daily ritual. Just as Link had known she would, she stood at the foot of his tree-forged house, a fond smile sent to the carving the boy had made in one of its roots, and called to him with a happy charm. She waited for him to stir, a thought spared to how lazy the boy could be, and lifted her voice to try again as her fairy flew overhead.

Soft soles climbed his ladder, and the chipper smile had already begun to fade. Not even the briefest glance was given to the room around her, missing the precious details the boy had been so careful to capture; she saw only the empty bed, cold and strangely, neatly made.

Her hand was unsteady when her fingers brushed the note upon his sheets, penned far neater than she'd seen before, yet undoubtedly his. She'd barely had the time to read it before the tears pricked her vision, blurring the words, though she knew they were inevitable.

"_Saria, I'm leaving. But that's okay, because we'll be friends forever. Won't we?"_

And as she read the words she'd spoken herself when they'd parted in another life, Link paused upon the bridge where he'd heard them, the whisper of it breezing his mind. He turned to look back, a last glimpse over his shoulder, but before he could his feet were moving again, urging him ever onward as he stepped out alone.

There were some things the boy just couldn't bear to relive.


	3. Savage

3: **Savage**

_Even though he denied their prejudice, he couldn't help but wonder what the silver cutlery was worth._

High brow and nasal, the many voices taking part in light dinner conversation would fill the large hall with ease, each guest speaking louder than necessary with an upturned nose and want for their drivel to be heard. No matter the subject, the noblemen and women of Hyrule seemed to think whatever they said was valuable, each sentence a masterpiece that could only be appreciated by—and indeed, were only meant for—pointed ears.

Not a one of them suspected their menial chatter was wasted upon the pair of distinctly rounded ears among them.

He had noted with distaste that over the course of his stay in this castle, the Hylian 'high born'—elitist and shallow as they seemed to be—regarded him with only two apparent perceptions. Some addressed him like one would a brutish savage, with slower words and simple gestures, raining pity upon him for his own 'primitive' culture and trying to educate him on things like etiquette and decency to the tune of their own 'civil' society.

Others, thinly veiling their discomfort, obviously had no tolerance for allowing 'thieves and whores' stay so close to riches and nobility, and often wondered what had possessed their King to invite them. They were dismissive and quick to point out flaws without the mercy of the previous, though it had been made clear that most everybody simply thought of the impending treaties like some sort of bad sale; buying a defective and exotic product one had no use for, simply for the fact it was cheap.

Golden eyes swept the large dining table, barely any of its redwood visible beneath the large platters and silver cutlery. Piles of food unnecessarily cover it, providing a banquet that would serve three times as many as the scant twelve gathered around the table. Already he could see that their scraps, cold with neglect as they talked, were of a quality and quantity to pass as middle class meals, sitting only to be wasted upon plates of precious metal too exquisite to be used.

He was the only one that had neglected to gather such heaps of meat and fruit onto his own, simply unable to do it as the fine filigree and pristine quality shone with a gentle wink to him. Such a treasure was to be displayed and taken care of, admired for its workmanship and the impeccable quality of the silver. It was perhaps fortunate for him that his appetite had waned in watching the others so ungratefully stuff themselves, utensils scraping the surfaces with careless abuse, their gluttony hidden quietly within stifled movements considered 'polite'.

A large woman with a nose to thin for her fat face cocked her head toward him, chins holding a disgusting sort of wobble as blue eyes silently took stock of his empty plate. "Lord Dragmire, I do hope you aren't feeling ill. You've not touched a morsel… I had been under the impression good food was a scarcity in your desert, but with the way you act, I'd sooner believe you to be fasting!"

She laughed with a flimsy wave of her chubby hand, turning a knowing look to the others as the mirth chorused about the table, some sort of inside joke they clearly thought him too ignorant to realize.

The Gerudo's sharp teeth took to abusing the inside of his cheek, preventing harsh words as his mouth avoided a sneer, swiftly converting it into a grimace and an evasive sort of hum. "…Yes, well… You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not accustomed to such large meals at this hour. That aside, I'm still adjusting to your… tastes, Lady Grantham." he uttered quietly, his rich timbre holding an accent that stuck out in such company like a sore thumb.

"Ah, yes, the spices…" ventured another man from further down, his drawn and wrinkled features projecting an age far greater than his voice would suggest. "I don't suppose you people have such luxuries. It would be a shame to deprive yourself, given the circumstances of their price and rarity…" He leaned forward to catch the Gerudo's eye, sending a pitying look that seemed almost smug as he took to a chalice of wine. "The fact that it has real flavour may make the meat a little strong, but once you've had a few bites, I'm confident you'll appreciate it."

Lady Grantham was quick to nod in agreement, her stiffly groomed brown hair not moving in the motion as it was held in place by ornamental clips. "Oh, dear me, I had almost forgotten about that… But he is right, of course, I know I certainly couldn't bear to eat an unseasoned meals. How bland!" she held a fat hand to her swollen bosom as it threatened to spill from her dress, her eyes wide to emphasize her aversion to such a thing as her digits came to toy with a ruby necklace.

"And such a waste of good rabbit, to simply boil or roast it like that; you know they're almost as rare as the spices, now." Came another haughty voice into the mix. "It takes a mindful huntsman to track them nowadays. I remember when I was a child, the fields were full of them."

He couldn't hide the scowl that formed, disgusted with everything this evening had offered, and as his fingers drummed upon the wood he couldn't help himself; golden eyes snapping to the fat woman.

"Has anyone ever thought to declare them protected until their numbers grew strong enough for the hunt again? I'm fairly confident a few years without rabbit wouldn't kill you." He growled, gruff as he gestured a large hand toward her stomach, specifically.

She stood immediately, a loud gasp attesting to how affronted she was as her jewelry rattled, though the wobble of her large frame only served to prove his point. The hand held to her chest again, she glared down her nose at him. "How dare you!"

The corners of his mouth twitched some, a sense of satisfaction tugging at them to form a smirk as he heard the scraping of another chair, one of the Lords cleaving to the woman in order to calm the situation. The table had fallen silent in the wake of one small comment, the fat woman ushered aside and fanning her face as if she may pass out, spouting her offense at the boorish thief's insinuations to the consolation of the other.

_Probably feeling lightheaded from standing so quickly; Gods know it takes a lot of energy to lift that much,_ he thought with some dark humour, watching her reactions from afar.

Tentatively, one of the slimmer of the nobles cleared his throat, sending a half lidded look of superiority down the table at the Gerudo King. "Have you ever _eaten_ rabbit, Lord Dragmire?" he asked simply, a thin brow raised as every set of eyes turned to look at the savage among them.

Ganondorf's eyes narrowed dangerously toward the man, and leaning back in his chair with a belligerent cock of his head, the Gerudo answered honestly. "No."

A vindicated hum came from the other as he immediately seemed to dismiss the imposing thief, taking a silver fork to gather a few morsels upon it and hold them poised to be eaten as he inspected the meat. "Well, then… Perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to punish others in jealousy." Green eyes sent him a pointed glance, holding only scorn where before was feigned pity, popping the meat into his mouth in spite to chew it slowly.

It took only a moment to see the same sentiment reflected in all of their faces, a damning silence in the room now that the Gerudo had spoken here. "Though I suppose we should be grateful you've not developed a taste for them. Your women might well steal the last Hyrule's rabbits, if you found them to your liking… But at the very least, you would not touch the spices." Haughty laughter rang out once again, filling the room and showing clearly the double chins. "Plainly boiled is fit enough for a King where you hail from, isn't it?"

A grand joke it was, precious rabbit wasted upon a savage.

A twitch of unbridled rage flew through his veins, hatred doubling instantaneously for the pompous and supercilious people gathered around him; though they would not see the dangers it was forging just yet. Every insult he'd bottled up, all the contempt he'd received, would be returned to them in good time, he knew, but still he could not linger here any longer to endure. A painful scrape of his chair signaled his departure, his silence squashed under their chatter as the Hylian Elite resumed their meals, ignoring the heavy sound of boots or the temper fuelled slamming of a door to continue light jests at his expense.

The silverware that lined the seat he had filled would remain untouched, unsullied, until the servants took them back in hand to be put away. With the Gerudo about, it was sure to see twice the security it usually would have, though this effort was in vain. All the treasures of this place, whatever remained of their rabbits in the field, and even the cutlery were already as good as his.

No one would be laughing then, but him.


	4. Saddle

4: **Saddle**

_Link had never been good at fastening them._

An impatient whinny sounded behind him, and pointed ears twitched nervously to the sound.

"I'm trying, girl, give me a minute..."

Crouching within the short grass, miles out into the vast wilderness of the Hyrulian plains, steel blue eyes inspected the damage from under furrowed brows. Calloused fingers held the cantle of her saddle in one hand, and suddenly grateful for the dexterity lent to him by the fingerless leather gloves, the boy once again took to the rusted latching with hopes of salvaging it. The longer he had tried, the lower into the grass he'd sunk, until now, he finally found himself sitting in the midst of a conundrum—in fact, he hadn't moved far from where he'd first fallen when the girth had given way.

The bruise was forming far more quickly than any successful ideas.

A frustrated sigh came, and leaning the weight of it against his knee, both hands began their struggle again. He had tried a number of things now. At first, Link had thought to tie the straps in place about Epona's barrel, though for that effort, he had found only that the leather wouldn't hold its knots tightly and that the mare was very nearly capable of rolling her eyes. Next, after a few minutes of brainstorming, the clever boy had seen to his own belt in sacrifice, only to lament for the first time his lithe—and almost skinny—frame; Epona was, to put it politely, a 'thick madame'. Not willing to let the idea pass easily, a quick mangling of the belt buckle entertained the thought of a replacement, though the fit was tight and easier said than done.

In trying to remove the rusted and broken buckle, straining as he pulled in vain to tear the last of it away, his hand slipped to be cut across the knuckles. In a fit of pique, the boy threw his arms up and knocked the saddle away with a damning word he didn't utter often, bringing the abused fingers up to his mouth with a scowl. The metallic tang coated his tongue, and blood drawn, it was clear the saddle had bested him once again.

An amused snort came of his sorrel companion as her eyes followed the rock of the discarded seat, and with a flick of her mane—seemingly as finished with the idea of repair as Link was—she set about grazing nonchalantly.

The boy turned his head to look, blonde bangs feathering atop a sulking frown as his blue gaze tracked the mare over his shoulder. Epona was, quite obviously, not bothered by this turn of events; she held no qualms, it seemed, with his riding without a saddle at all. In fact, if Link were to be honest with himself, he might even have guessed that his fiery friend thought him foolish for placing so much effort into fixing it. Still nursing stinging fingers within the comfort of his mouth, the boy found himself tracing the sleek lines of her form; strong, proud. She was a wild beauty as she had always been, and like so many other days, his mind burned with curiosity for how she came to live at the ranch.

Perhaps she had followed Malon home one summer evening, endeared by the sweetness of her singing voice as the mare wandered far from her mother. Malon's own mother had passed, he recalled, so then Epona may simply have seen a kinship to be forged with the daughter of Talon... Link himself had no mother; had never known her. The strange trio, as odd as the thought was, seemed to be orphans in some respect—she even reminded him of a mother at times, a nurturing creature she was, if a bit testy. When he had been injured in the past, Epona would stay close, quick to alert him to any danger and protective to the point of charging other beasts. When he was tired, she would refuse to carry him onward, as if she knew her protests would halt him to make camp and rest.

She was many things, this horse of his, but he'd never known an animal like her—there was something raw, keen and sharp, within her brown eyes. She went as far as he dared to, without pause or hesitation, across vast deserts and through thick forests without rest. He knew well he had not tamed her, not truly... She was faithful as a friend, not for being owned, or trained.

Somewhere in him, Link almost found the saddle to be an insult to her, as if suggesting she could be harnessed; needed to be restrained in some way in order to comply.

Removing his battered digits from his lips, the boy cast the lump of leather an accusatory glare, a leg kicked out at it for good measure after the trouble it'd caused. Taking his belt in hand he stood, brushing grass blades from the back of his tunic and turning an apologetic look to the sorrel mare.

"Well... I guess that's that, girl." he called with a small sigh, though some relief peppered his tone. "Can't be helped, and we have to be getting on to Castle Town before sundown."

She glanced up at him from her patch, her expression ghosting sarcasm; it was the horse's equivalent of 'I told you so', though with a whip of her tail it softened. She was never one to rub it in when she was right—Link appreciated how forgiving she could be when the mood struck her.

He flashed her a cheeky sort of grin, lopsided and handsome, as his belt was guided through loops to be fastened once again. "I know, I know..." he chuckled, sidling up to her and patting the thick white of her mane. He drew close to her ear to whisper, causing it to twitch with suspicion.

"Listen... Let's just keep this whole thing between us. You know Malon would never let me live it down..." came the whisper, a little more desperate than he'd like. "There'll be a carrot in it for you. Freshest, biggest, juiciest in the markets. Promise."

After a stubborn moment, as the mare was not usually one to accept a bribe, he felt her lean ever so slightly toward him—her way of agreeing, he knew, and his grin doubled. He took an arm to hook about her, a small jump required before Link could get his leg over, but Epona was steady to accommodate him. A final glance was sent in the direction of the abandoned saddle, though the sharp neigh he received was warning enough to forget about it as the mare took off into a spirited gallop. She had decided to waste no more time, it seemed, now that a carrot was involved.

As the wind caught his hair, Link twisted fingers into her mane fondly, and realised that although the sensation may have been a little rough, it was as natural and wild as she was at heart. She was one of a kind, born of these plains, and cared not for whether she wore a saddle...

Epona would carry him to the ends of the Earth, regardless, simply because she cared enough to do so.


	5. Calendar

5: **Calendar **

_The Princess kept her day's well marked, but only in ink._

Zelda remembered things by dates, penned in neat script within orderly boxes upon her calendar, crisp and clean and tacked to the wall of her study for daily inspection.

It was an odd thing, this ritual of hers, but not a single event was missed by her eyes—she'd present smiles on birthdays alongside pleasant gifts, and keepsakes for remembrance whenever some sort of anniversary fell. No matter when it came, or how little warning, the Princess could place dates to happenings with an uncanny speed; never caught unaware of them.

Beautiful writing spoke well of an educated hand, tender and delicate as titles were put to days, numbered and organised with precision and planning. When she learnt of new things to document, she did so; pulling a velvet lined chair from an oaken desk and dipping quill in ink to record it. It may have seemed eccentric to some, were they aware of her obsessive habit, but she herself might describe it as a simple catalogue of circumstance—something to look back upon each year, like a ledger or a diary, slowly filling each box as the years passed by until there wouldn't be a single day left unnamed.

But, there was one event she could not pair to any day of the year, and after an age of it plaguing her, she was not going to let the box remain unfilled any longer.

Satin gloved hands were folded upon her lap as she watched the young man poke about the study with an endearingly childlike curiosity. The verdant green of his tunic was a stark contrast to the white of her stone walls, and even her own peach toned attire, looking out of place as far from the forest as he was. A soft smile warmed her pale face, and with an idle tilt to her head she addressed him kindly.

"Link... I know this may seem a little offhand, but on what day were you born?"

Interrupted from his explorations, the boy ceased his rummaging to look up at her, half way through the motion of flipping through pages with no intent to read them. His handsome features suited the bemusement upon them, blue eyes wide to tell he'd not expected such a question. A blink turned to furrowed brows, and an upward glance in thought, fingers taking to an idle drum against leather bound covers.

"...Oh... Well... It's..." he stammered some, and it was almost painfully obvious he was trying to concoct a white lie for her sake. "...The end of Mashen... Uh, seventeenth. Yes." It was quick and evasive, if not a trifle nervous, as he nodded quickly and pretended to be once again enthralled with the tome.

Zelda forgave him instantly for such a weak willed answer with a small slip of laughter, though a quizzical look soon made it clear her prodding would continue. "The seventeenth would be much more in the _middle_ of Mashen, though, would it not?" She saw him squirm some under her crystalline gaze, and her look softened. "...You don't recall your birthday. Link, that's alright, I quite understand, given the circumstances of your unique upbringing. I was only asking; don't fret for it."

A hand came quickly to ruffle his own floppy cap, something bashful about him now that she'd seen through it like glass. His eyes avoided hers a moment, the corner of his mouth ticking with thought, though Link was quick apologise. "...Sorry. I just didn't want to disappoint you..." he shrugged some, an old ache rising for the oddity he knew he was as he peered up through blonde bangs. "Why such a sudden interest in it?"

Zelda was truthful, though casual in her explanation. She offered him a curt nod as she turned some, taking up the feathered quill to continue her previous task. "Well, it is hardly sudden... I've just not had the opportunity to ask, or thought to do so, though I was curious." A swift dip into the inkwell saw her take with that pristine cursive to the date he'd suggested, marking it as his. "I just wanted to make a note of it... Never mind, though, I'll just set you for the seventeenth from now on."

But it was far too late, now, for Link's interest was well and truly caught. Stretching his neck to full length, he tried to peer past her, eyeing the strange document with a small frown and a conspiratorial twitch to his ears. "Make a note... of it?" he pried, squinting some. "On what?"

She perked up with a questioning hum, as if she'd not heard him at first. After a moment, she seemed torn between her calendar and the Hero, her expression seeming to find nothing amiss with her obsession. "Oh, nothing... Just a personal calendar I keep. I jot down a few important things here and there... So that I don't forget, of course." she flashed him a fleeting smile, suddenly keen to make it appear less important than it truly was to her.

The Princess almost flinched when the boy rose to his feet, soft soled boots quiet against the stone and carpet as he came to stand at her side, setting the book he held down upon her desk. He leaned over it, blocking her access though she made to shoo him, and after only the briefest scan took the flimsy thing in hand to turn and inspect it himself. Though she twisted in her seat, holding a hand up as if silently begging him not to, Zelda reluctantly held her tongue to simply watch him; forlorn.

Calloused fingers held it high in front of his face, sharp blue eyes scouring the thing in a tenses silence; as the pages flipped, he saw months pass by and with them, many notes. He read them to himself, tracing it back mentally as he mouthed the words, each date a footstep retraced through the sands of time—when finally he found what he'd searched for, Link's stomach twisted painfully; baffled as to how she could possibly have summarised the harrowing ordeal into three mere words.

"...The Great Cataclysm."

He felt his jaw clench when he read them, something cold forged within him bubbling to the surface at such a thing as every memory raced across his mind's eye like a plague. Her eyes were upon him; he could feel them tracing every muscle. No louder than a whisper, he asked her with a cold voice he could barely claim as his own.

"...Why is this in here, Zelda?"

With something akin to defeat, she sighed, closing her eyes and lowering her head. "I just... wanted to remember, I suppose." she offered quietly, sombre and matter of fact.

The Hero turned to her then, a distant anger in his eyes though his handsome features were stoic. A tense moment passed between them before he shifted slowly, taking hands to unfasten his belt. He saw her glace up, caught by the movement, only to look away with the faintest hint of a blush—satin gloved hands rose again to persuade him against what he did, though Link continued without heed, tugging the green tunic over his head to reveal toned muscle littered with scars.

He called to her, catching one of her wrists to draw her gaze, and unable to articulate any better than the action, pressed the gloved hand to a streak of mottled skin across his ribs.

"Twenty eight days after leaving the Temple of time. Struck by Volvagia's tail; never turn your back on an enemy." he uttered plainly, devoid of emotion and just as quick as she could name a birthday in her court. He shifted her hand again, moving onto the next; "Thirteen days after. Caught by the tip of a spear in the lost woods; you're not safe even in your own home."

Zelda shuddered some, shaking her head and simply unable to look at him as her lips tried to move, though his voice cut through her as yet another marking was pointed out. "Seventy two days. Slashed by Nabooru while she was brainwashed; even your friends can be turned against you."

So many there were, and he could name them all; falling rocks from the collapsing tower, captured by Gerudo guards, the bite of a rotting corpse risen.

For every scar, he could pair an event, each with a date and a lesson he could recall and name faster than she could absorb them. He was too quick in his listing; Zelda knew he needn't even think to do so, each mark holding a memory far more potent than ink upon a calendar. Upon his very flesh was inscribed his history, meaningful beyond words written or spoken, and for an eternity it seemed to go on until the boy halted mid sentence, seeing unshed tears prickle her lashes.

He fell silent then, strong grip fading from her wrist as he released it, not another word spoken between them as he turned to retrieve his tunic and let her tears fall in peace. He admired her for not crying, though for the moment, Link simply couldn't face the insult his old friend had contrived with naught but three simple words for their past.

As the Princess hid her face from him with a sharp stab of guilt, she heard his footfalls pause, his voice soft and sorry from where it lilted in the doorway.

"Zelda may have her calendar for birthdays and the like... But Shiek has just as many scars that are his to be remembered, and no amount of ink will ever do them justice."

And then, she really did cry, though as her left her, Link new she understood.


	6. Eyes

6: **Eyes**

_The shade of them fascinated, and occasionally, scared her._

His eyes were so beautiful, even set against his rough features. Striking; strong and proud, shining gold like the sands of their home whipped up against the sunset. They were the eyes of a leader, and she—like so many sisters—loved them.

It was all too easy for Nabooru to find distraction by them, as her King sat aloof from her, half hunched over a distinctly worn desk of oaken and bold Hylian design. She knew the odd furnishing all to well, privy as it was to her glaring scrutiny, heavily set in the most outward room of his chambers to impose upon any called here with a sense of foreign intrusion. One would think a gift of goodwill would have claimed a more favourable condition over the battered old chunk of wood received, but as the nobles often claimed, its value was its heritage.

Unfortunately, the odd desk was also the substitute for her gaze whenever her King noticed the habit she had of staring whilst he busied himself.

Downward and to the side, his Second's attention would feign clipping to the awkwardly carved corner of it, sometimes accompanied with an evasive and distracted hum and, on the hottest days, a blush burning slightly to warm to hide in such weather for being caught. Used to attention as any King may be, he allowed her these strange and slimly hidden perusals with indifference, never finding any cause for concern, and Nabooru was silently grateful for this clemency.

But this day, her slender ankle bouncing nonchalantly upon her knee as the woman reclined in wait of a call to service or counsel, his indifference turned to a swift and painful awareness. A sweat slicked quill fell limply within his large grip, only a single drop of ink misplaced as it dripped upon the map beneath, and a reticent glance—but only a glance!—was sent her way to briefly trace her outline.

Struck helplessly off-guard by it the woman stilled, the idle bounce retracting sharply to see her soft sole upon stone, and hitched exhale met the golden charm she so often stalked. The harsh sun outside of his windows, the murderous slits lining their fortified home, filtered through with a gentle flutter to reach his irises and shimmer there keenly. They were more luminous than a cavern of treasure lit up by a tentative and hopeful thief's lamplight, piercing and sharp like a wildcat in the night, assured and cool despite the flaming colour.

Indulging in them, taken aback for so easily acquiring her addictive quarry this day, she scarcely remembered herself before him. Blinking, a tiny shake of her head betrayed her, thin brows arched in surprise and question.

"Sire? Am I bothering you?"

He shifted then, pulling posture back to fill his chair properly, and setting the quill within the well let powerful hands reunite on the banal desk before him. Ganondorf allowed himself to hold eye contact with her, watching curiously as the woman held back numerous ticks, and pensive tilted his head some.

"No, Nabooru, I wouldn't have you sitting in on me like this if it bothered me." he offered with the hint of a smirk, amusement mingled upon a squint the stole her prize from her briefly. "That said, however, you've been rather silent of late. I had begun to wonder if _I _was upsetting _you_." The corners of his mouth lifted to chuckle, a hand gestured to the map between them. "I know you don't much favour these... new affairs of mine."

Even the beautiful gaze was not enough to stay the grimace that took her lips at that, a roll of her own eyes hidden as she took to the long ponytail over shoulder, bringing it forward to groom distractedly.

"As I've said before... I simply don't see why you're whiling away precious time with Hylian lore rather than addressing certain matters while you have their King's attention." she muttered ruefully, recalling the last argument they'd had—Nabooru never dared look him in the eye while his rage flared, for fear it would ruin their lustre.

A strained sigh came rumbling from his throat as his large frame seemed to slump some in disappointment, the hint of annoyance darkening his features into a patient frown. "You just wait. My studies will pay off, Nabooru, I promise you that. You may not see the sense in it now, but you will soon enough." He saw her gaze sharpen and allowed his own to soften, "I was _going_ to bring up several issues in our last meeting with them, but you know how skittish they can be about treaties."

"Which issues?" she pried, brow rising conspiratorially.

"The silk trade, organised supply caravans and the possibility of an aqueduct, pending the Zoras' approval." he offered tiredly, rubbing his temple as a lazy blink dimmed his brilliant stare.

The woman bit her tongue, an almost habitual nag rising up in her throat, though the quiet and weary flicker of gold kept her voice at bay. Her fingers caught a knot in the long crimson tresses, and taking to it, Nabooru nodded with an approving hum. Almost carelessly, after a moment of silence, a small tangent escaped her anyway.

"Is that what you went to see them about last week? The Zoras, I mean... You know the scouts have actually reported the river receding some since then... I'd hate to think you had anything to do with that." she mused jokingly, though her timing was poor.

Such an innocent thing, yet it received no reply, and instantly the question began to reverberate about the room as if a guitar string had snapped in the midst of a spirited tune. Carefully, almost hesitant, she found her gaze lifting away from her hair, searching as ever the shining gold of his own. But there, staring back, were a set she didn't recognise at a glance—it was almost as if the light in them had died, replaced with a stark and lonely yellow, sickly like jaundice. His pupils dilated horribly, large and black blots to reduce the brilliant colour from only moments before, crisp and consuming like suns caught in an eclipse.

These were not the eyes she adored. They were as a stranger, peering down into the bottom of her as if checking a diamond for flaws, ready to throw it away at the slightest sign of clouding. So often, when he was close to her, Nabooru could see her own reflection in them; fixated, she could only stare, locked in a predatory glare by her King and seeing her face a pale streak in those arid eyes.

"...How strange." came his bitter tone, deep and gravelled. "Perhaps I shall inquire as to their well being in your stead when I travel next." Within Ganondorf's mind, growing paranoid now with pending schemes, her watchfulness suddenly found and struck a nerve—his eyes darted to the map, crosses placed over three locations; forests, mountain, and of course, a freshly scribed one now marked the Zora's domain.

If not for her habit, she'd never have caught it, but Nabooru's attention drifted to follow his, watching helplessly as a large hand came to cover his scrawlings, sly. "I'll not be joining you?" she asked quietly, almost absent as she noted the locations, her heart plummeting in her chest.

"No. There's no need, and I would prefer you stay here, seeing as I don't know how long this particular trip may last." he finished bluntly, dismissive as he stared he down, quelling any protest.

It dawned on her then, like bile rising in her throat, that she did know this strange gaze though she often avoided admitting it.

Their arguments were always heated, a battle of wit and moral standing, desperations and frustrations clashing as the two leaders came about different solutions for the same goal. She tried and pleaded for diplomacies and talks of peace, soothing his desires to strong-arm and hurt. The louder he yelled, his booming voice crashing upon her like the brunt of a sandstorm, the darker his eyes became. The shimmer of pride became blind fury. The cool and aloof glances became sharp and frantic glares. She dared not look him in the eye when they fought, nobody did; though that did not mean she had not caught glimpses of hellfire burning in their place once or twice, when bailed up against the sandy stone of these walls.

With those dim flames staring her down so clearly, Nabooru could not deny the eyes she adored were also eyes she despised—she chose so many times to watch him and admire them, but when he truly looked at her in return, when she did not simply admire, the illusion began to fade.

But then, rare as it was, when talking amongst her sisters, one of them would swear she had seen that glint, a different side of him hidden just beyond his irises, and question Nabooru on her fondness for them. For years, as his Second in Command, she had seen it and pushed it aside, telling herself that it was just ambition or frustration, but deep down, she supposed she knew it was something else. Only now was it staring her in the face, unable to be ignored, though something in her gut told her it was too little too late for whatever it was the map seemed to point at.

Perhaps that was why, she pondered as she rose, padding softly to the door and away from the gaudy desk; that was why she and everyone else treasured those brilliant eyes when they shone with golden promise, the last vestiges of a happy boy prince...

For when they didn't, they held something dangerous, and it frightened her.


	7. Gift

7: **Gift**

_The bond of sworn brothers was far stronger than the mountain rock._

As many a Hylian would tell you, the Gorons of Death mountain were, by any stretch, a rather peculiar lot.

Scholars thought them dull witted, and quite often strained their patience to hold civil conversations with the mountain faring tribe. Soldiers found them to be a belligerent and stubborn group, impossibly headstrong or else, simply too literal to talk tactics with. Hylian blacksmiths were well known for either bitterness against them for their fierce business rivalry, or reverent respect for the masters of masonry and ironwork. Even the judgemental nobles found the Gorons to be 'good for a laugh', and quite a few highbrow jokes and quips centred around their 'brothers'; confidence taken in the fact that no rock dweller would pick up on them as the vague insults they were.

To the Gorons, however, high up in their simple city of rock and carving at the summit, it was Hyliankind that seemed strange. The difference was, in true fashion to their humble and uncomplicated culture, such opinions went unvoiced. To speak ill of their brothers was a dishonour, and terribly rude, even if pointed ears were not privy to such things. Even so, despite hearing of their oddness as perceived by outsiders, the Gorons returned such speculation only with respect and goodwill...

Perhaps even, to their detriment.

As was customary now between the two races, every three years would be held a gathering to celebrate their alliance and encourage continued relations to go favourably. It was a grand political opportunity to gain some standing in the eyes of the other, based on hospitality, and offerings and gifts were commonplace.

But this year's festivities seemed dimmed for the Goron's patriarch, his dark eyes scanning the visitors to this proud city of his as they all lingered outside the entrance; the rocky vista painted by the setting sun in shades of red and orange. Usually, Darunia favoured his own turn to host these occasions, often the first to indulge in music and spirited dancing, but as he stood surreptitious to lean against the rock, he found he simply couldn't bring his feet to move without the hot beat of the forest whistling around him.

Blunt fingers tapped idle against his bicep as yet another representative approached the square platform in the middle of it all, a basket of wines placed within the circle of rock with other offerings. He was thankful for the usual harshness of his face, barely able to hide the disappointed grimace that took it even as the beat of Goron drums filled the air to sway lanterns.

He wouldn't say a word. No Goron would dare turn away a gift given, especially under such circumstance, but the simple fact was the gifts received this year were of poor selection. Gorons did not drink spirits, nor enjoy pot pourri. They could not eat the fine and exotic fruits, had no use for swords, regardless of their workmanship, and their culture passed information through generations by mouth, not book.

As the evening wore on, Darunia had all but lost faith in his 'sworn brothers', their gifts a sure but simple sign that they did not care to think outside of their own ways and needs—a stark and foreboding reflection upon the political affairs to follow in years to come, surely.

Where normally the stubborn patriarch would feel anger in his belly, it worried him to find only a sad longing for bygone times, to the days before Ganondorf, when he and the Hyrulian King were still so mutually inclined... Mutually _understood_.

A hefty sigh left him with a slump of his heavyset frame, a slight grinding of his back ridges upon the wall as he did so, and with a hint of defeat he turned toward the great door with disappointment.

From the edge of the crowd, struggling with a grunt and red cheeked from the journey, the padding of soft soled boots rang out as the guests fell strangely silent; an odd gasp and snicker here and there. He paid no attention to the others of his kind, this late arrival, and with some effort moved through them as they studied his peculiar cargo.

"Surely, that's not his _gift_?" whispered a woman in the back, surprise and mortification etched onto her features.

"Do you know that boy? I've never seen him before..." asked someone of the Goron beside him, though he received only a grin in response.

Stopped by curiosity, Darunia turned slowly, a bemused frown lasting only a second as a verdant green caught his gaze. No sooner did he catch the glimpse of him did the Patriarch's foot tap, the ghosting melody he adored running through his head, ringing of the forest from which the boy hailed.

A crunching thud caused many to flinch as the burlap sack he carried was more or less heaved upon the offering platform, and with a relieved sigh and a cheeky grin, the lad took a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, brushing blonde bangs aside. Blue eyes fixed upon his old friend, and the gold of his bracelets, so familiar, shimmered fondly back at the Goron chief.

"Sorry I'm late, Darunia. You have no idea how heavy things are for me now that I'm small again."

The Goron's stony expression cracked, and to the shock of the other guests, a barrelling laughter erupted from Darunia's belly, jovial and loud. "Link, my Brother!" it was warm and fond, full of relief as bulky arms were held out to him in welcome. "It is good to see you have not forgotten us!"

The boy gave a pleased pat to the mysterious cargo he'd brought, as a furrowed brow stole his boyish features, though not enough to rid him of his smile as all eyes turned to him. "It's not much... But it was the best I could find by myself." he mused self consciously, ruffling his hat and perusing the assorted offerings, knowing well of their worth.

As the other Hylian representatives watched on, embarrassed and intrigued by this strange child's appearance, the whispers were many fold. But when Link, to their great horror, reached into the sack and produced no more than common rocks, he received instead a happy cheer from the Goron's gathered around. Confused glances were shared alongside questions and shock, but it was clear to the visitors that this boy had outdone them all when the lofty tribe members cleaved to him with smiles and friendly pats to the back, praising his thoughtful gift. It was decided, very quickly, that the lad was as peculiar as the Gorons, simply unable to understand the appeal of rocks over wines.

But when the large hand of Darunia came to clasp his small brother's shoulder, his dark eyes shone brightly with renewed hope for the future.

"It's the best gift I could ask for, Brother." he chuckled, thankful. "Now play us that tune!"


	8. Poe

8: **Poe**

_Perhaps the saddest spirits of all were those living to collect them._

The small and sparse chamber that was once a well stocked armoury seemed as bleak as the skies outside, a strange stink upon the stale air like sulphur and limestone, though the ashes of Death Mountain had not reached so far.

The door was a quiet creak behind as Sheik slipped in, a red eyed glance about the place curious though subdued as the cold of night was shrugged aside. It was an idle thought, but the warrior was thankful of the mask over his face, spreading warm breath about his neck and cheeks and belaying the fog that might've given him away in stealthy situations. There was no greeting to be made or any herald of his arrival, as Sheik watched the odd proprietor with something of a reluctant reticence, bandaged fingers twitching upon the glass of a miasma-filled bottle.

The strange man the Shiekah sought sat as ever on the stained sheets of a small bed, as unmoving from it as the iron lattice between the bedposts, as pasty limbs dangled over the side with an odd sway. A large hood obscured the Collector's face, morbid wonder that it must have been underneath, to allow only the dim crimson glow of an eye, modelled on forgotten Kakariko lore and twisted into being through dark ritual.

Sheik was always silent as he felt the shivers up his spine, one for every visit to this spiritual menagerie, and already habit had set in as routinely as it could in this tumultuous world. The warrior would step forward with near undetectable footfalls, whispering closer, unable to know whether the Collector had noticed him as yet; hood down turned to watch the odd bug scuttle about a green mat. A moment taken to count the empty bottles by the bedside resulted in six this night over the usual three or four, and with a twitch of hidden ears, the warrior wondered of what sorrows were drowned. The Collector claimed so often to be a creature of chaos, one of few supporters to the anarchy under Ganondorf's twisted designs, but when so many in Hyrule drank to make peace with their lot it seemed a mystery as to what could drive the Poe Collector to do the same, fond of trouble as he was.

Like clockwork, too, as the Sheikah drew near, the captured spirits would wander from the cages above on their shelf, as if gleeful of the living energy he brought. A sharp whack would strike the a cage, wood hitting wood as the collector's cane sent the poes retreating back quickly, fearful of their master's ire. Only then, as the warrior stopped before him, would the odd pair acknowledge one another; Sheik with a silent nod, and the Collector with a hollow and cynical laugh.

"Back again so soon, little lady?" he spoke mischievously, voice scratching like a parched wanderer in the desert. "...And you've brought a gift with you, how thoughtful... Heh he heh..."

The scowl that came was obscured some by blonde hair as crimson eyes sharpened dangerously, a twitch running through Sheik's lithe frame. "This is the last time I will tell you not to call me that." he hissed, voice lower than usual as if asserting masculinity. "And you know well enough by now I will give you nothing without payment."

Cheekily, the cane was lowered to tap the bottle Sheik held, and the warrior withdrew with a hidden snarl, red eyes flashing with warning as the prize was held high. A tense pause settled between them as the spirits above licked at the bars with hunger, and the warrior spared a distasteful glance to the tattered fabric about the Collector's torso, likely stolen from a lost guard's corpse long ago—Zelda within him knew better of it, though. The twisted creature before them was a reminder of how desperate even her own kind could become in darkness.

A pitying hum echoed forth from beneath the hood, and though the Collector's gaze could not be seen, Sheik could feel it upon him. "...Still chasing that handsome young man, I see." another scratchy chuckle as the wooden cane met the stone floor. "Such a shame you're hell bent on being one yourself."

"Don't speak of things you don't understand." Sheik sighed, allowing his stance to lose its belligerence as his voice came slightly muffled through the mask. "I need only know of his movements with discretion, as per our deal."

The hauntingly singular glow of the Collector's visage fixed upon him then, a sharp and sober scrutiny piercing his very bones as if he were no more than another poe to be appraised. Zelda recoiled within him, a strange sense of panic running through their veins as the Princess hid away, though the both of them in such mental scramble felt easily able to be spotted, in that moment.

"...Do you truly believe, little lady, that false eyes cannot see truth?"

The question rang out to echo lightly off of stone, the chamber still against the tone of it as suddenly his pets found nervous pause. Bandaged fingers tightened upon glass only slightly, hesitant, before the captured prize was thrust forward with haste to be taken. When no answer was received, the Collector made no move to take the bottle, his usual greed for such a thing subdued with an eerie and foreboding sorrow. Unable to do more, Sheik fell desperate, dropping the imprisoned poe into the tattered fabric of the Collector's lap.

"Please, just tell me how he is... I am a stranger to him; he is only a Hero when we meet... You are the only one who can see past it and into his soul..." the warrior breathed, no more than a whisper, inflection feminine and small as the facade began to crack. "Does he still smile when he comes here? Does his fairy still sparkle, chiming like a bell to the wind?" Behind a fringe of blonde, the red eyes flickered blue with glossed sadness. "Is there still a happy boy inside of him, or have I crushed it already as he searches for Zelda? Please, I beg you, please just tell me..."

The Collector seemed to look upward, tracing the wisps of faces above as they stared down at the pair with lingering despair, and slowly he whispered as the cane was set aside to lean against stone brick. "I've studied ghosts all my life, little lady, and this world that the Great Ganondorf has provided me is the only one in which I can flourish. That young man of yours is as energetic and lively as ever... So much so, it seems almost as if he shouldn't be a part of it."

Sheik's breath hitched within his chest to hold back a feminine sob as the Collector continued ruefully, holding the bottle up with a knowing eye. "He brings me these wandering spirits with the naïve hope that I can alleviate their pain. He sees only the people they once were, and though he's never mentioned it, I can tell he looks at me as if I were still the man he met here as a child. There is no bitterness in him for the fact that I have... sold my soul to collect others. Not like you, little lady."

Inside a divided mind, Zelda recoiled in pain, forced back as she threatened to spill from her keeper's mouth. Sheik found his gazed glued to the bottle as well, watching the ghost writhe within, begging to be free. "I sold myself to survive as you did. My bitterness is a personal one. My existence to hide hers is one of suffering, it is a curse." Red eyes narrowed dangerously as his gaze lifted to the Collector. "You welcomed yours as a blessing, and what he sees you for is a lie."

Though it could not be seen, the Collector smiled with a bleak and honest way, wiry fingers taking to the cork. "Perhaps... But that young man still wants to save me, just as he does the estranged Princess." he could only chuckle as the poe was loosed with a violent flare, floating up to join the others of its kind as a strange joy overtook them. "We'll never tell him of what he must destroy to do so, will we? You and I, little _lad, _will be as the ghosts he brings me. We were born of this world of darkness, and we hold no place in the light he threatens to bring... Do we?"

With a dismissive grunt the warrior turned, bandaged fingers clenching tightly into fists as he made for the door, squashing the protests echoing out in his head. As it opened with that awful creak, the scratched voice of the Collector followed him, the hint of laughter behind it.

"I imagine he thinks her a spirit, and the Sheikah guiding him to be real... Perhaps, if I give him this very bottle, he may catch me another with the vague hope that it is her."

Again, the shiver crawled up the warrior's spine, cold as it left flesh numb in its wake, and it was only then Sheik realised what it meant. It was death, friend to this place, sweeping him with a friendly and knowing caress. The mournful Princess he hid within had shed many tears for that, but the stoic Sheikah knew nothing of them—he ignored them, swallowed them down, like a child denying their mother's sadness. Sheik hated these meetings with the Collector, only stomaching them for Zelda's sake, and it was all too clear to him why.

When he stepped across the threshold to feel that chilling sense of displacement, he was reminded, every time, of the fact he was nothing more than a ghost.


	9. Short

9: **Short**

_Someday, Ganondorf would stand above them all._

When the boy King of the Gerudo tribe set his young mind to a task, he usually went to great lengths to see it done. Despite his age, the child was resourceful and diligent with most endeavours, taking an almost overbearing pride in his achievements; the bigger, the better.

The haughty youth seemed to have a fixation on such things, in fact... bigger rugs, more 'adult' attire, larger gourds, heavier weights, and of course visions of grandiose about himself and his bright future as propelled by the support of others. Many sisters would joke privately that the boy 'walked ten feet tall' in response to this, for as large as Ganondorf's dreams and preferences seemed to be, the boy himself was at present the shortest in his age group.

But Ganondorf, ears alert to the whispers around him in search of praise or contempt, heard their giggling often enough that it had begun to irk him greatly.

This day had seen him pushed almost to wits end with it, so distracted by these thoughts of height that he was bested in a sparring match by a girl no older than himself. A rare miss on his part had shed temporary fame upon the lucky raider-to-be, but with it came some concern for the little King, painfully replacing the praise he so often received. Embarrassed, he had spent a good hour dodging questions on his health, and even one accusation of having slacked behind this week in training, along with pitying whispers of how the girl in question held a height advantage.

In sheer rebelliousness, the boy had demanded to be allowed entry into the training course and prove the girl's fluke, only to be denied once again. Talented though Ganondorf was, they would say he was too young, too small as yet to complete the trials. 'Such a precious child' his aunts would coo, 'another year to come into yourself, my King' would his attendants soothe, and the boy would huff and glare to stomp away in the first throes of tantrum.

Such a temper for one so small.

It was little wonder that by the time the cooler gusts of twilight swept across the sands, Ganondorf had chosen to seclude himself from others, a quiet new obsession latching onto him with a powerful bite. Dangling upside down from a low-slung beam, tiny fists strained to keep hold of a rather heavy sack of unclean dishes—the heaviest items he could find on short notice without attracting attention. The wood dug into the backs of his knees through loose cotton, and though he had only been at it for a few minutes, his feet had already lost feeling to gain a tingling sensation. The blood had begun to rush to his head in a dizzying and heavy way, and stubborn though he was, the sweat of his palms threatened to send the burlap slipping through his fingers.

Frustrated, he scowled down with determination, fidgeting to keep hold of the weight and willing himself to stretch. He'd had to have gained at least two inches by now, or so he would hope. But when his golden gaze caught the sight of someone rounding the corner, the flinch of distraction was all that gravity needed, and to the stone below came clattering the collected dishes.

"What in the world-!" echoed the shriek, and the boy knew he'd been caught.

Left feeling utterly ridiculous, he breathed a sigh of defeat, skinny arms falling to hang limply with some disappointment. "Go away." he sulked, as the guard came rushing to aid him, his brows furrowed with an angry pout.

She slowed as she got closer, gloved hands hesitant to touch the sacred boy that outranked her. Blessed with a beautiful and motherly face, she paused to take stock of her King with curious empathy, licking painted lips thoughtfully as her slender brow furrowed.

"...Sire, do you need help... getting down?" she asked quietly, fingers twitching and raised ready to assist.

"No." he hissed down at her, wearing a horrid frown as his golden eyes flashed wild. "I can do it myself. I got up here alone, and I can get down, too." For good measure, the boy smacked at one of her hands before crossing his arms in a childish manner.

She recoiled some, withdrawing to hold her arms at the small of her back and nodding curtly to the upside-down sovereign. Ironically, the boy was almost at eye level with her, and glancing down to scan the array of clay pots and broken bowls at her feet, she was able to address him without staring down her nose.

"If I may ask..." she started carefully, raising a brow, "What exactly are you doing up there?"

Ganondorf gave her a withering look, scrunching up his face with childish defence. "How is that any of your business?" he spat, straightening on habit to appear as commanding as possible. "You dare to question your King?"

Despite herself, the guard could barely hide a smirk, taking a hand to her hip in a cheeky manner. "Forgive me, Sire, but you really do beg curiosity in such a position." she tossed her head lightly, crimson hair swaying behind as her eyes glinted with humour. "It's my business because I'm the one on dish duty tonight, and you've taken everything I needed to wash..." She nodded down. "...And broken most of it."

Through the veil of his ire, an abashed blush crept over dark cheeks. "Oh." the boy swallowed once before he caught himself, small hands creeping to fidget with the golden sash around his waist. "Well, you... You are relieved of your duty, obviously. I am a merciful leader, so I won't punish you."

Charmed by it, she couldn't help but laugh, though upon seeing his glare the woman stopped herself, hiding the last of her smile behind her hand. "Sire... come now, you should get down from there. If you fall on my watch, I'll be whipped for it." she offered sweetly, waving a hand to encourage him. "This can be our secret... seeing as how you've granted me clemency for the dishes."

With an evasive hum, the now bashful boy shifted, straining upward to grab at his knees and get a hold of the beam. Though he tried to make it look effortless, the exercise had taken its toll on his youthful frame, and he began to struggle. When suddenly he felt the warmth of her hands about his torso, Ganondorf did not protest or resist, relaxing his legs and allowing the kindly woman to assist him. He fell softly into her arms, held as tenderly as if he were her own son, and instead of lowering the boy immediately, she seemed to revel in the slight affection between herself and the small sovereign.

A slight bounce held him at her curvaceous hip, and though the child glared off to one side in a last ditch attempt at dignity, her sweet and motherly voice caught his ear as swiftly as any whispered joke.

"One day, my King, you'll be a tall and powerful man. You just need to give it time."

His defiant frown began to fade slowly, and like the child he truly was underneath his status, small fingers found themselves tightening about the loose purple fabric she wore. A tired sigh slipped from his mouth, head hanging guiltily, as golden eyes glanced upward once again to meet hers with sadness in them.

"I want to be like that now, though... Everybody laughs at me for being small." as he said it, his voice seemed small and unsure. "They don't let me do anything because they think I'll hurt myself."

Her smile was soft as she rubbed his back, providing the comfort that he so often missed out on. "Then you should stop being so reckless. Sire, you keep trying to live up to this image of yourself, and you've shown great promise for when you are a man... but for the moment you're still a boy. The desert kills adults everyday, it isn't your height that makes us so protective."

Gentle hands shifted to his ribs to softly lower the child to his feet, and sensitive to his predicament, the woman knelt to maintain eye level as her fingers grazed his cheek. "If it really bothers you so much, then find a skill and practise it with the same effort you put into getting taller. Nobody will think about height differences if they don't count over prowess... give some substance to your pride without being such a dare devil."

Though his pout had lessened, Ganondorf turned his nose down to glare at the floor, hands flexing by his sides self consciously. A grimace came about, twitching as the words built up behind it, and finally he grumbled low. "...But I'll still be shorter than all the girls, even if I'm a hundred times better than them at something."

She chuckled some, rising slowly and dusting off her pants as the red powder of broken pottery clung to them. "Not for much longer, Sire. Believe you me, when the time comes that you're taller than the girls, height will be the very last of your worries as a King."

He gave a dismissive and sulking grunt in reply as she turned from him, padding away with a sway to her hips. Over her shoulder she winked back it him, waving a finger. "Don't you go asking the exalted TwinRova sisters to make you taller, either."

But as she left the boy standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot among shards of terracotta, his young mind began to tick over her words. Whether she'd realise it or not, his obsession with height would die quickly to be replaced with something far more worthwhile; a skill that few Gerudo possessed, and a craft in which size did not matter. At her suggestion his resourcefulness flared to life, and that very night he tore away from the stone walls of the fortress in search of this new fixation, with every intention to be the biggest and best the world had seen.

The boy did not ask the old witches to be taller. As she had said, he would become tall in time...

Instead, he asked them for their tutelage, for she had promised he would be powerful, as well.


	10. Different

10: **Different**

_Though Link knew the warning of the woods, he couldn't bring himself to believe it._

The sun threatened to set over the village of Kakariko, drifting low to the lazy turn of the windmill as the skies shifted hue. The people that made simple lives here had already begun to retire into their homes, leaving a quiet weariness in their wake to prepare for tomorrow's labours.

The soft leather of Link's boots did not disturb this either, the sound of grass crunching crisply underfoot, subtle as he made his way through from the fields. The young man was thankful that the long stairway, carved into rock to create a private and safe passage, was not a burden to climb as it had been when he was a child—longer legs served him well, and he was reminded of his progress whenever he came here in that way. Even Navi, his ever present companion, could attest to it, no longer needing to wait on the boy to catch up if she flew ahead.

However, this particular trip had been somewhat more taxing than usual—with a fluttering of blue feathers and a slight struggle, Link's cargo had a nasty habit of getting loose from gloved hands and running about those steps in a flurry. Several times this happened, costing a great deal more effort as the boy ran after it, though compared to the journey on Epona, catching it within the stairway seemed easily managed. Nobody ever mentions to young Heroes how difficult it is to travel on horseback with a cucco... at least the bird's struggles were quiet. Even flustered as it was, nestled in Link's arms after the odd journey from the forest, the peaceful atmosphere would not be shattered by shrill crowing.

Cojiro rarely crowed.

"I told you we should've set out for the Desert today," the fairy chimed above him, hovering about his pointed ear with a nagging tone and flickering her wings with impatience. "If you didn't insist on going home every few days for fresh milk, we wouldn't be distracted like this nearly as often... You know you could just go to the ranch and save time!"

With a slight shrug, the boy spared a glance to the blue cucco, his attention primarily upon keeping hold of it as it squirmed. "But it was really nice of Malon to give us a cow..." he mused absently, as if not truly listening. "If I went and got milk from the ranch, she'd have hurt feelings."

With a sigh, Navi seemed to sense there was no helping it now—the Desert Sage would have to wait until tomorrow. "I'm sure Malon would be happy either way, as long as she knows you're not going thirsty." she muttered, drifting away from him some as Cojiro flapped.

"I was talking about the cow..." he offered distantly, rolling his eyes and adjusting the bird in an awkward manner to be tucked under his arm.

Despite the odd look his companion no doubt gave, Link's attention had already shifted. Crystal blue eyes followed the lone tree as they passed it, and shimmered lightly with worry that the bird hadn't made a sound. The boy knew, from handling the reticent creature before, that it only perked up when near it's master. Though he tried not to think of it, Fado's words echoed in his head; _He's gone._ _Everybody, Stalfos. _Shaking the unpleasant thought from his mind, his steps quickened to spy another who might be able to help, using a stick as she was to encourage her own cuccos into their pen for the coming night.

When she saw the tell-tale green of his tunic, the woman looked up to lend him a smile, though it was quickly overtaken with some surprise. Closing the small wooden gate quickly, she struggled to greet him with the same cheer as usual, ever grateful as she seemed to be for his frequent aid in handling poultry. Instead, as Link approached her, a sombre and unsure nod was passed between them, her gaze fixed to her brother's bird.

"Link...?" her brows furrowed toward the handsome lad, setting her stick aside to lean against the fencing. "You've got Cojiro? I thought you'd given him to..." her voice seemed to grow breathless, as if too weak to finish, and it was all she could do to glance back at the bird. "...You... haven't seen him lately, have you?"

The boy came to a stop as she trailed off, the both of them hesitant and unsure as they focused on the cucco between them, and frowned lightly beneath blonde bangs. "Well... I _did _give Cojiro to him_..._" he offered quietly, trying to ignore the strange feeling in his stomach as he looked to his fairy, searching for support as his fingers began to twitch. "I was hoping to ask you the same. We found Cojiro wandering around the forest, and I thought maybe he'd gotten left behind."

"Oh, no, no... It's not like him and Cojiro to be seperated..." came the concerned reply, and Navi felt her heart falling quickly between them.

While Link wore that naïve look of worry and misunderstanding on his face, like a child being told their pet had gone missing, Navi found she could barely stand it. The fairy knew of Grog's fate, as did the Kokiri, as simplistic a truth as it was... but Link seemed to be in denial. The boy dismissed it, having lived all his childhood in the forest a Hylian himself, and couldn't readily accept that others of his kin were to be monsters when he was not. He clung to his hope that it was a cautionary tale to those that would be lost; a fable, or a bedtime story, but certainly not true. But Grog, like others that strayed for too long in the woods, never held the protection of the Deku Guardian and unfortunately, quite often fell to sleep within the gases of the forest.

When one such stranger slept, it was only a matter of time before the transformation began; adults into Stalfos, and youth into Skull children. She'd tried to sway him from returning Cojiro, wanting to spare Link that harsh reality, but the boy's kind concern would not allow it.

Navi had not answered her ward truthfully, when he had asked if Fado spoke the truth, for fears it would lead to heartbreaking questions.

"Maybe he was still in the forest when we found Cojiro, Link, and we didn't see him nearby." the fairy lied quickly, cringing unseen for the false hope she gave them. "Best leave him here with the other Cuccos... until his master comes back. Cojiro will be safe and happy here."

Though Link opened his mouth to protest, he stopped himself when Navi's light seemed to dim, and thinking her to be worried as he was, said nothing as she began to drift away from them to watch the sunset. With a sigh, the boy would nod to her sullenly, leaning over the fence to return his cargo home with another flurry of feathers and the clucking of its kin.

"Maybe she's right..." the woman offered softly, swallowing her own concern to place a hand on the boy's shoulder as the fairy floated away. A tiny smile caught her lips, softening her plainly pretty face as her eyes gained back some shine. "I feel better knowing Cojiro is safe and sound, at least... Who knows, maybe my brother has made friends with a nice fairy, too."

Link forced himself to return the kind look, a nervous hand brushing his fringe aside, and took elbows to lean upon the fence. A moment passed between them as they both watched the birds in silence, waiting for Cojiro to join the others and peck at the feed. A small and thoughtful hum drew the boy's attention as the woman held a hand to her face, eyeing him fondly.

"You know, you're just about the only person my brother liked." it came almost a whisper, mournful but warm as her gaze traced his features. "He was bullied terribly as a child for his skin condition... Our Grandmother used to make poultices for him to help his rashes, but there wasn't all that much she could do besides. They called him awful things, told him he was disgusting and ugly..." she shook her head sadly, auburn hair feathering her her jaw and eyes closing to a pained memory. "Everybody gave him a tough time for looking so different. Even father never really gave him a chance."

An old ache rose up in him with empathy as Link glanced away, fidgeting to pick at his gloves and avoid feelings it dredged up. He grimaced to himself, watching Cojiro as the bird was almost swallowed in the sea of white feathers, tussled about as they fed and occasionally pecked at. "I was bullied as a kid, too... for being different." it was offered reluctantly, as if the boy still hadn't quite let go of the past. "A boy called Mido used to tease me like that... Called me names and excluded me from everything. When I finally thought I'd bridged the gap between me and everyone else, he still didn't accept me. It wasn't fair, but I guess he couldn't care less about how I felt."

With a soft smile and a strange twinkle in her eye, the woman nodded toward the lone blue cucco, watching him in the fading daylight. "When Cojiro hatched, he looked like any other chick, but he never made any noise. My father figured there was something wrong with him, and was going to have him culled. Cojiro would've died if my brother hadn't intervened, and he hand raised him after that... we were all amazed when he grew to have blue feathers." she turned back to Link, tilting her head. "We all loved him for being different, especially my Brother... But our father still thought Cojiro was useless, because he didn't crow. They understood each other perfectly, I think, Grog and Cojiro..."

The boy stared at her some, pensive with a sorrowful frown as his knuckles rapped upon wood. "I guess it doesn't really matter what makes you different. There will always be people who decide they don't like you for it." a heavy and defeated sigh escaped him as he righted, stretching lazily.

The woman nodded curtly, glancing past him to see the last of the sun."You're right, Link... But then there will also be people who think it's wonderful and unique." she followed his suit, picking a piece of grass from her skirt and smiling at him as she flicked it away. "Others might be cruel sometimes, but its little differences that makes a person special, and a good friend can remind you of that."

The boy paused as the words reached his pointed ears, and from the corner of his mind, a strange and unnerving thought came creeping hand in hand with a rather reassuring one. In the forest, to be different meant to be a stranger, and Link knew that strangers were to be lost, among other tales. Where Mido had been cruel, Saria had always matched it with kindness, but Link had always felt misplaced among the Kokiri... though he had since been made aware as to why; he was, in a sense, a stranger just as much as Grog was. But if he was simply an exception to the rule, that left him with an awful answer as to Grog's fate, and an unfortunate conclusion for another stranger he now knew had ventured into the woods long ago. The shine of his eyes dimmed as the tug of war between his thoughts unfolded swiftly, but biting back the bitter taste of one side, he offered her only the comfort of the other with a tiny smile.

"Yeah, I guess that is true... Your brother for Cojiro..." he gestured to himself, tugging at his green collar. "And Saria for me."

It drew a giggle from the woman as her eyes seemed to brighten, and clasping her hands before her, Link could see her hope renewed for his efforts. "Thank you for bringing Cojiro back... and thank you for looking out for my brother." she offered sweetly, patting the boy's arm as she moved to finally finish for the day. "I'm sure he'll be alright... The mushrooms he's looking for are pretty rare, so I guess it's only natural he'd be gone a while. If he can find one, our Grandmother thinks she may be able to cure his condition, too. Maybe then, he'll finally be able to work for our father... He never could stay out in the sun for long."

But as she padded away with a somewhat cheerier 'goodnight', Link couldn't find the heart to do the same, resigned to a limp wave as he made to return to Navi. His gut was twisting with a horrible feeling as questions burnt painfully in his mind, and when finally he found his companion lingering about the lone tree, the small stool at its foot seemed emptier than before. Lifting blue eyes toward her, they held an empty sort of gleam, filled with a sudden sense of loss.

"Navi..." he called her name delicately, quiet so as not to be overheard. "When I asked you if people... really do turn into Stalfos... and you said no..." the air was thick upon his tongue as he said it, gathering his courage to face the truth. "You lied to me, didn't you?"

The fairy hovered low, as if weighted down by the ghost of Cojiro's lost master, and she answered him with guilt. "Yes, Link. I did. I just didn't want you to be upset." drawing a long breath, Navi kept her gaze upon the horizon, unable to look at him.

"I heard what she said to you, Link. You were bullied for being different, yes, and even though you thought it was because you had no fairy, now you know you were actually a Hylian... But the Deku Tree knew what you'd become; that you were special, just like Grog knew Cojiro would be, so he... protected you... only you..." Navi's light had dimmed now from the brilliant azure it usually was to a disheartened and faint glow of sapphire.

"I know it's horrible, but I'm afraid Cojiro will never crow again. I'm sorry, Link, I... should've told you the truth when we found him... They just... fall asleep, you know... They don't feel any pain..."

A moment passed between them silently as the first stars began to dot the sky, and Navi knew his next question long before his lips moved, shuddering when finally he voiced it with a broken tone.

"...My mother became a Stalfos, didn't she?"

"Yes, Link..." the sprite choked, barely able to find her voice as her small heart cracked. "...Yes, she did."


	11. Glass

**11: Glass**

_Though Zelda was held surrounded by windows, it was perhaps Ganondorf she threatened to shatter the most._

Stained glass caged them from the outside world, understated and pale in golden and scarlet hue, framed by blackened stone; his colours. The dim light filtering through these grand windows held thickness, like smoke, painted in dreary and damask shades for such designs.

She found it suited them.

When the Princess looked around her, she saw him reflected in every crevice—in the fragile and creeping lattice as it swept glass like choking vine, in the taste of the cold and stale air, and in the distant gleam of a storm hazed sun faintly reaching to claw at this withered husk of a tower. It contained perfectly, quietly and forcefully, an air of control and order. Something of an arrogance; a taste of finer things that a once hungry King had now learned to savour. Perhaps that was why he kept here within this chamber as well, themed with baubel-like finery.

Satin gloved hands were held behind her back in a guarded manner as Zelda stood, freely inspecting the master craftsmanship evident in the glass depictions. Many might find them vague, a smattering of madness upon prophecy, delicately laid to framework with an almost jaundiced taste of woe. The Princess, however, let her icy gaze roam without bias. She did not feel them tower over her with imposing dominance as intended, but rather, saw in the twisted designs something fragile and curious.

The idle click of her heels haunted him as she perused. Her silence was deafening, and the Evil King found himself unnerved by it. While her eyes wandered, his own golden gaze remained fixed.

Thick fingers would twitch, and the low rumble came quietly, squshed beneath a tension the Gerudo could only hope was mutual. "One would think, Princess, that you have mourned the loss of such luxuries these past years, ensnared as your attentions seem to be... Perhaps there is some envy in your eye?" he began with a subdued and haughty curve forced upon his mouth. "Are you thinking that I do not deserve to reside here? That I have built my tower upon stolen foundations, where _your_ castle would have stood?"

Zelda would offer only the chime of laughter at first, a soft thing and without mocking or malice. Blonde tresses would sway lightly to the shake of her head, a coy movement to his eye; subtle though it was.

"No, Ganondorf. I merely paused to admire the workmanship. Setting aside what it may have replaced, I can see what arose from the ashes was forged in painstaking detail." she surrendered her gaze to him then, delicate jawline tilting to capture him in the corner of her eye. "It is a veritable work of art... though like any masterpiece, I cannot help but wonder of the artist behind it."

No surprise crossed his rough features as they darkened to sneer, a flash of cynical bitterness lining them quickly. "Do not sit and decipher me, girl. I do not care for your opinion of me, nor do I have the patience left to indulge it upon even fleeting whim. You'll not find my mind and history splayed upon this glass, so do not pretend to." his growl echoed across the empty space to be absorbed by those very panes, thinly shuddering to the sound of him.

He had not been dealing well with the over-analytical Zelda's appraisals, and often denied her the chance to impart any wisdoms by them. The very fact that an enemy would have the audacity to inform him of his own nature, as if he were some blinded stranger to himself, was enough of a slap to the face as it was.

What did she possibly have to gain, attempting to lord knowledge of his very being over him so? Judging his worth with that snide, saccharine sense of superiority, and openly telling him not only of his percieved flaws, but how to right them.

She took pleasure in belittling and demeaning him from high upon her pedestal; he was conviced of it, every word from her lips laced with holy poisons tailored only to him.

But the Princess only turned back to the grand displays of stained glass.

"I did not intend to. It would be a fruitless effort, for me to search these things of yours intended for show. I know these depictions and fixtures are just an intentional facade to a greater nuance of you, and I will not insult you by needlessly decrypting their meaning..." a gloved hand rose in gentle gesture to them as she spoke, though quickly found itself folded at the small of her back once more. "I would ask a question, though, if you'll permit me."

The Gerudo would eye her from afar, suspicious of what her query might be. But in these precious little moments before the Hero was upon them, and a grand destiny unfolded before him, she provided the distraction and surcease of anxiety he knew—for owning a paranoid mind—was fragile at best.

"And here I thought you hellbent on answering unasked questions." he would hiss with a sardonic tone, crossing bulky arms over an armoured chest. Fiery brows knitted together over golden slits, narrowed in condemnation of this. "I will humour you, Zelda, provided it silences your incessant need to pry further."

With graceful fluidity she turned, the hem of her dress as a whisper to stone beneath her, and the aloof stare fell upon him, unabated. Her pale countenance betrayed nothing of what she may ask, and the radiance of her was doused by the sombre hues cast about the chamber. Flecks of faint yellow and faded red painted her lifelessly to match him, and in that moment, the two stood shaded by the same grim window as it wrought their shadows upon the floor.

"You sit at the top of this lonely tower, denying yourself an all encompassing vantage of your greatest conquest... but if you truly feel worthy of ruling it, why blind yourself to such spoils? Why not gaze upon the lands you've aquired and treasure them, gloat for them, like you do the shallow fixtures of this chamber?"

It was the seat of his power, the helm of her stolen country, and the mighty zenith of his domain rising jagged from a bleak horizon to loom over all. And yet, the glass imprisoned him as well as it did her.

She would not receive an answer. The unruly flash of gold pinned her there, glaring tongues of fire to sweep this vexing woman before a wave of his hand dismissed her. He threw his cape aside as he turned to the grand organ beside him, and the Princess found herself returned to the crystalline prism, silenced. He would drown out the echo of her foul words with disjointed notes of agitation, thick fingers taking to the ivory instead of her swanlike neck.

He should've known better. He should've known there was no mercy for him upon that sly and serpentine tongue. Even against the powerful thrum of music, there was no salvation now that her seed of destruction was planted to grow within his mind. Link may deal the final blow, but Zelda needed nothing so trivial to be the key to his downfall—she could weaken him with words alone, and though he often denied it, he knew this to be true.

They were not truly windows at all, and it pained him that she found it so obvious.

No, windows allowed one to view and be viewed... these were bars of glass, forged from the last hidden vestiges of shame and regret. The lands he coveted, he had ruined; lush fields grew more brown by the years, rivers trickled weak, and once blue skies were burdened by angry clouds. He had destroyed Hyrule, to avoid surrendering it. He did not wish to see it... But neither could he let it go. The chaos of the outside was not what he had wished for, and in his struggle to achieve his ideal, this chamber fed him the illusion of success and control.

And when the Hero had come and gone, whether it resulted in the Gerudo's favour or not, an estranged and quiet corner of his mind had prepared for it with an otherwise forgotton and nostalgic sorrow.

The beast in him would have its cage, nonetheless, and each of them reflected his heart.


	12. Oceans

12: **Oceans**

_Tetra found she missed the gentle rock of waves as she lay within his sturdy bed._

* * *

Her home was her Ocean. Life atop the waves, rather than below or beside them, seemed the only natural course her years would follow. You could raise the very mountains from the seabed, watch the islands lift upward as if to spear the clouds and gaze upon the lush fields as they basked in the sunlight once more...

She would cleave to her ship all the same, to sail whatever waters were left to her.

All this Tetra had told him, though burdened by the face of a princess, her captor accepted very little of it as truth. It had passed Zelda's lips, though it came purely from the pirate's heart. He dismissed her words like a deckhand swatting gnats in the summer heat.

The large bed barely creaked as the Gerudo's weight was lowered upon it, sturdy hardwood frame accepting it almost fondly as he took to sitting at his own bedside. Golden eyes glinted tiredly over the young captain with fading anger, subtle and awash with private miseries left unshared. They reminded Tetra almost of sunken treasures, caught winking in a waterlogged sunbeam to be found and rescued from their watery grave.

Thoughtful, he would rest a hand upon his knee and shift to appraise her once more, sullen and—for the moment—sated.

"You speak of the seas above with all the passion I did a part of this land below them, Princess..." he offered quietly, patient for her youth. "...when I too was young and adoring of the place I called 'Home'."

Uncomfortably adjusting the cylindrical silken pillow, propping herself up further, Tetra's teal eyes flashed with irritation toward him.

"I told you once, don't call me that." she hissed waspishly, before a sigh calmed her some. "The land down here is beautiful, sure, and it probably would make for a great place to live... But that's what you don't get, Ganondorf, it isn't the world people like me—or anybody up on those islands—understands. It's foreign to them, it's not the salty air we breathe or the spray of the sea. It isn't what they know."

She said it more forcefully now, repeating it in different ways over the last few days as she had been. It bordered on seeming useless now to even try to explain it, and seeing the slightly bemused furrow of his thick brows once again, the pirate silently gave up. Blonde hair wisped behind her shoulders as her head shook, her gaze falling forlorn to the velvety covers as a small shrug was offered.

The Dark King beside her, however, seemed suddenly more attentive to her reasoning.

"No," his voice wavered on a low timbre, rumbling to send a tremor of remorse through old bones. "It is what they've come to forget. Stolen from them and washed away..."

The gold of her brows furrowed upon his words, and from under the girl's anger came some empathy, crawling out from the very bottom of Tetra's heart. It occurred to her that the gentle rock of waves that lulled her at night would likely keep the Gerudo awake. The stillness unnerved her here, lifeless like something was wrong, though the steady ground beneath their feet probably held the opposite sensation for him.

It seemed to her Ganondorf knew little of this new world, obsessed with the old; a mystery locked away like the royal blood she had only recently discovered in her veins. Fleeting visions of grass and sky, the stark green of it haunting behind her eyelids, breezed her mind. She held fondness for them, the odd burst of familiarity they brought through a haze of alien texture, and it pained the pirate that she knew not of whether those visions had merely been borrowed.

Was it what lay outside his tower that she had glimpsed, or was it the memory the Gerudo seemed all too keen to evoke in her? Either way, Tetra couldn't help but feel sorry knowing his home had been lost, though she wasn't about to sacrifice her own to comfort him.

Still the dark man continued quietly, harsh features wearing a stern and weary frown. "When I first laid my hand to the Holy Relic, it shattered before me and the other two pieces fled my grasp. I suppose the Gods are fickle... they would leave true power to tempt their children with, daring us to take hold of it. But, when I rose to that task and saw it done, they granted but one part only to take the rest of the spoils within seven short years. My efforts seemed wasted, as if I had been tricked."

Tetra fixated upon his profile sharply, tracing the outline of the Gerudo's nose and brow. She strained to see the monster shining there in his eye, reminding herself not to yield to his cunning mind. He was built of lies and bloodshed, and had caused nothing but pain. Tetra knew him only as a rogue wave that threatened to capsize every island on these seas and drown those who sailed upon them. She didn't feel comfortable when faced with the humanity within the dark king.

The bubble of pity, or even whatever it resembled of understanding, was held away from her surface with great effort while he spoke.

"Those damnable sages saw me knocked from my throne and bound away in a realm blackened by my nature. When after years I escaped my chains, I seared the world like a desert wind for my revenge, and they could do nothing against my assault. Hyrule was mine for the taking once more, battered and broken beneath me... though like before, when I reached to take hold of my goal, it fled my hand. The flood waters came to wash away what I had done when a Hero could not. The Gods would spite the land itself, if it were to be mine... Perhaps I sparked their tempers for taking Hyrule through destructive means."

A small sigh drew bitterness from his lips, and Ganondorf would lift his gaze upward to peruse the heights of the chamber, almost as if searching for the Gods' eyes looking down. "Whatever the case... I met every challenge put to me; I won the race for the golden realm. Yet I receive only punishment where they promised reward." The hand upon his thigh slowly closed into a fist, Power flickering at its back with silent pathos.

"You don't deserve to be rewarded when you _cheat_ in that race." she muttered quietly, grimacing with some sarcasm and fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "You didn't meet the challenges, you manipulated them and snuck around. You strong armed your way to glory, instead of earning it by overcoming the hurdles. When you aren't scheming around things, you just barrel through like a mad Sharpedo, ripping any obstacle apart with your teeth and leaving a cloud of gore behind."

With a slight huff, the young captain would cross her arms in a point of defence, her mouth screwed to one side with distaste. Tetra had never been one for fancy words and grand speeches, nor bragging or even intent. In her life she had learnt to trust actions and deeds, and put her faith in those alone.

In the Gerudo's case, however, she made an exception. She knew what Ganondorf said he would do would indeed come to pass, if she did not make a liar of him by preventing it.

A good few moments of silence passed between them before strange and haunted sort of smile curved his mouth knowingly, the barest hint of his fang-like canines to be seen in its corners. A tone hitched in his throat like a caught chuckle, guilty yet amused. "You are right. It must be said that I was left little other option, but certainly, I'll be the first to admit to my errors in the past. I was haughty, blinded by my pride and fury... I lacked restraint and patience." Tilting his head, the smile remained though his teeth grew hidden.

"I needed to experience that failing so that I could rectify it now. My destiny is to be Hyrule's true King, and my trials did not end with gaining my crest as I had expected. Rising and falling, escaping my bonds and surviving the deluge... it has tempered me like a blade, reforged, and now I stand fit for such a task. The final test of my worth is upon me."

The pirate's cute features had been slowly devolving into contempt, though the teal of her eyes shone vulnerable and confused. Her arms tightened over her chest as if to force the breath from her lungs, bringing up tender words with them; small and sad.

"Why do you hate my ocean?" she whispered softly, mournful for it. "Can you not see the beauty _it _holds? A provider of our needs and a jealous guard for our safety, the sea protects those in her care. Forever changing, untamable, you have to work for her affections and sail her with respect. The islands are painted in the spring and she kisses us with gentle mists. In the winter, she rages away from our shores. She is a spirit of mercy, though she doesn't coddle the weak. Do you see none of that when you look...?"

A wry chuckle from him cut her short, and the Gerudo paid no mind to the affronted look she sent him. Running a large hand through the blaze of red hair, he seemed amused by some internal joke, indulging it before golden eyes found her again.

"As I said earlier, your passion for the sea reminds me of my own in youth. Perhaps that is a good answer to your question... Tetra, wasn't it?" he plucked her name so suddenly, as if he simply hadn't noticed it was there before. A fiery brow cocked briefly, something cynical to it.

"I hailed from the West, when this land saw the sun... and a harsh sun it was. My home was an arid place, a desert that went on as far as the eye can see... much like your ocean. It was always changing, whipped up in constant movement like your waves above. It took many lives, and did little to sustain those who did survive there. The occasional oasis provided refuge for those tossed about in the sands, not unlike your islands. Your seas yield no fish, and my desert did not yield fruit. The expanse required wit and experience to cross, just the same, and it was a hard journey... But I believed her to be a beautiful mistress once, strict as she was."

Harsh features darkened with the ghost of old pains, and he stared the pirate down with a decisive click of his tongue. "But I grew out of such naïve adoration for my home. My love for her was unrequited, clearly, and Hyrule beside her provided the nurturing care we never received from the sands. I look out upon your ocean, child, and I see only the hardships of my desert reborn within those waters. If I were content to suffer such a fickle and vengeful mistress, I would not have set out from my home in the first place."

There was something gravely earnest to the hard lines of his worn features then, as if silently pleading with her to see reason. "It is my duty to resurrect Hyrule, and if you knew the splendor of your own country, you would not hesitate to help me in that task. Let me correct my mistakes, and I will teach you and all those above to know this land again."

Tetra's eyes narrowed upon him stubbornly, golden hair swaying as she shook her head lightly. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you're doing us 'ignorant fools' any favors." The sombre shadow of her face lifted then, a smirk growing in its place as she gave a coy wink.

"You keep talking like the Gods have punished everyone by taking away what they knew and loved. I can see your anger toward them and the regret you have within yourself. They took it from you too, after all. But you'd be a hypocrite to think its okay for you to take away the seas, the thing we know and love now, to make amends. Two wrongs don't equal right, Ganondorf, and it won't absolve you of your mistakes or make you any more worthy to rule despite them."

Her smirk faded some, and something serious overcame her then, both eyes closing with resolve. "You aren't giving anything back, just taking more things away. You're still as selfish and greedy as ever, you've just gotten better at justifying it. Link will be here soon enough, and when he is, you're going to have to accept that the Gods sealed Hyrule for a reason. It was to protect its secrets, stem the flow of evil that they draw to abuse them and give its peoples a clean slate, free of ancient burdens... like _you_."

Biting back on the fury that began bubbling in his blood, the Gerudo's lips drew thin and golden eyes sharpened back into the monster she sought in them. His features knit back into the resentful scowl he usually carried, the lightest twitch upon his lip as he warred with a forming sneer, trying not to defy his professed composure. The dark king rose quickly to his feet and it was clear their conversation was done, a dismissive wave of his sleeve given as he moved to tower over her.

"Don't be so quick to dismiss your title, child..." he growled low, his eyes burning with a hateful glare. "_Princess_ fits you more than you know."

Even so, it was Tetra alone that matched his gaze, her own teal eyes alight with conviction even as she felt the spell of sleep heavy upon them. "You can't take our ocean away from us, just because you can't tame her. That's precisely why we have her in the first place."

Like the country outside of his tower, Hyrule's Princess succumbed then to a deep slumber beneath the waves, but her words would echo for what seemed like an eternity afterward. The Gerudo stared at her all the while, haunted by them, and though he willed himself to be done with her for now, he couldn't shift himself from her side.

He knew she was dreaming of her Ocean, and in that moment, he wondered if it truly would still be there when she woke.


	13. Fate

Chapter 13: **Fate**

_The Happy Mask Salesman's question seemed clear, though Link wondered if it was truly meant for him._

Another low rumble sweept through the foreign land as the encroaching moon loomed large overhead, and it seemed the tremors grew more violent each day. Not a single person could ignore the shudder beneath their feet, the air thick with fear and silent tension as many began steeling themselves for the worst. One did not have to look far, even on the bleak Terminian shore, to find despair clawing at the isolated hearts of those who would reside here.

No matter where Link turned his gaze, he saw a doomed land moaning weakly in the final throes of death...

And like so many others, the boy's hope, too, had begun to wane.

Sitting in the pale and grainy sand, dulled azure eyes stared out at the misty horizon, unable to find the line separating sea and sky. He could hear his heart beating slowly, counting the precious seconds as they ticked away, and cast a glance to his effects before him as they sat strewn around his legs. A melancholy sigh left Link's lips as he reached to pluck the Ocarina from the sand, but pausing to let his hand hover with uncertainty, found himself withdrawing instead.

True, he could reset the clock, alter fate's design and little by little mend the chaos wrought upon this world. It was a hard and puzzling task, overwhelming to his senses of place and time, and though it took its toll heavily the boy would give his all to see it done. But Link was beginning to realise, painfully, that there were some things even he could not prevent or change.

Inclining his head to the side, peering mourfully through blonde bangs, he allowed his attention to linger upon the fresh grave of Mikau. This was the second time he had watched the guitarist of the Indi-Go-Go fame die, and the second time he had laid him to rest upon this lonesome beach to be marked by a makeshift grave. The first time he had come across the dying Zora, he had seen him pass with some semblance of peace, and for such kindness another mask would manifest. Seeing his work done and paying his respects, Link had the set about fulfilling Mikau's final requests.

The boy had worked quickly, dilligent, and reunited Lulu with her stolen eggs. He had even passed on Mikau's farewells to his bandmates, in one way or another. Every loose end the Zora's untimely death had left behind was steadily fastened by Link's caring hand, each of the three days available spent wisely and coming to—what seemed like—a satisfying closure.

But out of time, and with pressing purpose, the dawn of the third day had come upon him as it always did. Melody played, the Gods had seen fit to whisk the young Hero back in time once again to continue on his quest, and in doing so, reset the the world he stepped out into. Ever faithful, the boy had set out with every intention to cleave for the next Giant's call, though when his boots met the sands once more, Link could journey no further.

Mikau's grave absent, Link's care undone, Lulu's eggs stolen once more; greeted by the caw of seagulls and the awful sight of the Zora's dying form, just as before, the gravity of this awful loop hit him. No matter what pains were taken, the Hero's efforts seemed for naught, erased as he ventured backward to buy time.

Time, Link knew, that could only be wasted within this hellish limbo, were he to repeat such kindness... and yet, he had found himself pausing to bury the Zora once more, unable to ignore him now that such connection had been made.

Three masks had been laid out before him to surround his Ocarina as Link ruminated on such thoughts, remorseful and morose. He was beginning to recognise now how cruel fate seemed to be; for every three days he spent slowly advancing to save them all, he had to sacrifice each of them many times. He simply couldn't do it all in such a short period, forced to favor some over others. How many broken people, struggling and scared, would he have to ignore when the final three days came in order to save this dying land?

Their problems would still unfold as they always did. Link could fill the last cycle with only so many before facing the moon itself, but once that elusive fourth day finally broke, there would be no going back for the rest. Some would remain simply too late to help...

Darmani and Mikau's masks reminded him of that.

The chime-like tone of Tatl's wings, as she fluttered about in the fading hue of sunset, had grown restless now. So much time had been wasted to Link's inner turmoil, silent as the boy had become. She knew that sorrow plagued him, but the clock would not relent—barely six hours remained for the young Hero to take them back again, or risk meeting their own untimely deaths as the catastrophe came to pass.

Urgently, though with a rare softening of her words, she would attempt to coax him once more.

"Link... I know things look bad, but we have to get going now. You've had a good two days rest, but we're running out of time. Get up."

A few moments went by with only silence returned to her, and the fairy heaved an impatient, though defeated, sigh. She could barely stand to look at him when such a mood claimed him, and as the sea breeze swept softly across the sand, only when she had drifted away from him some did his voice reach her; small.

"...You've met a terrible fate, haven't you...?" it was a broken whisper, soft and mournful, that left him as he reached for the third mask in his set.

Tatl found pause, taken aback by such an odd statement as she whipped around to face him, confused and alarmed. "...What?"

But as she watched her small companion lift the Deku mask into his lap, she realised he wasn't talking to her. Link ran his fingers slowly across the wooden surface, rough and uneven as it was, as if mottled by scars. Azure eyes lingered upon the sorrowful gaze the mask returned to him, and the boy found his vision blurred by tears as a soft sob hitched in his throat. To the concerned fairy he turned suddenly, and for the first time Tatl saw the child he resembled shining in his gaze, lost and alone.

"...That's what he told me when I first came here, remember?" Link's voice wavered slightly upon the tears he held back, his childish features twisted into a pained frown as his head hung to stare at the mask again. "All this time, I thought he said it to me... He seems to remember me, like maybe he knew what I'd had to give up, somehow... before I came here... not just the fact that I was cursed."

Another cringe of sadness came of him, and it was obvious the boy had held back far more of himself and his pains than Tatl would ever know. A slight tremor took the mask as his small hand began to shake, and even more quietly now, he shook his head with a sigh. "But he was talking to the spirit of the Deku shrub, the dead one we passed in the forest. He was the butler's son... it was him who met a terrible fate, because... he had to die for me to find this place. He was killed so that his spirit could be used to curse me, and prevent me from coming here, like Skullkid knew once I saw what he was going to do, I'd fight to stop it... but I can never bring the butler's son back. Just like I can't save Mikau."

He seemed to get a better hold of himself then, recoiling away from his companion some as if embarrassed for his show of weakness. He sniffed some to wipe his nose on the back of his hand, and against the skin he muttered with a cynical, somewhat angry, tone.

"I'm just so sick of seeing it. A sacrifice for the greater good... Like something precious always has to be lost before anything can be saved. It isn't fair, I was happy to be a hero... I don't need to lose anything or anyone to do the right thing. Nobody should have to; if I'm needed, I'll be there! I don't want to be 'persuaded' or 'lured'... I don't want to be 'blackmailed' into it anymore... I don't even want to think about what they're going to take away from me this time."

The fairy took this in silently, the beat of her wings slowed by a feeling of guilt she couldn't shift as she reflected on her own treatment of the boy. She found she understood his ruefulness, somewhat, and was internally sorry to have added to them as she had. Fluttering down to hover carefully over his shoulder, she gave consolation to the twitch of his pointed ear.

"Link... I don't know where you come from, or what happened to you before all this, but..." she paused, searching for the words. "...you know I'm sorry for trying to manipulate and use you like I did when we met. I know it's no excuse, but you just seemed so... used to be treated that way that I... I'm just sorry, okay?"

"You were just worried about your brother... I get it." A weak roll of his shoulders offered a shrug as the boy closed his eyes to the twilight around them.

"Truth is, it never really bothered me how you were, because... you reminded me of an old friend. I was so desperate to have her back, I guess I didn't care if you treated me badly or were rude, because everytime I saw you beside me, it made everything feel normal again. Like no matter where I was, or how bad it seemed, I'd be okay... That's why I was in those woods in the first place. I was looking for her. I just wanted to know why she left me behind... whether it was all a lie and she was only doing her duty; maybe she was just using me, too. I don't want to believe that, but I just don't know anymore. She was my best friend... but, she never even said goodbye."

The gentle breeze drifted over them with a salty tang, the red and purple haze on their horizon fading into a lonely black, and Tatl found herself fed up with the boy's depression. She sympathised, yes, but there was only so much of him kicking himself the fairy could patiently take. Stubbornly, her wings would ring like a sobering bell, and with a final huff she would have no more.

"Well, if you were anything like this with her, I don't blame her for running off on you! Snap out of it, Link, this is pathetic." the fairy saw the boy flinch, pained by her comment, though he hid the extent of it under his bangs. An irritated sigh came from her, and her tone sounded all the world like a mother standng with hands on hips to chastise.

"Sure, that Salesman said the shrub met 'a terrible fate', whatever, some people have them and there's nothing you can do about it... but there's so much you _can _do to make up for the few you miss. You know what else he said? _Have faith, _and he said that_ to you._ Have faith in people. Have faith in yourself. Wherever she ran off to, if she was really your best friend, she would've had a good reason to and you know that deep down. Have faith in _her_! Maybe she left you because she knew your search for her would lead you here, did you ever consider that? Ugh, You're just like Skullkid!"

Upon the sand, the boy shifted defensively, hugging his knees close to his chest as her words settled in. Slowly, almost unsure of himself, Link's head lifted to let glassy blue eyes settle upon the fairy with a silent question in them, desperate to hear the answer as she continued on her rant.

"You're a lonely kid, so you think it's okay to berate yourself about it. I know you feel like your friends deserted you, or that you were left behind, and you want to know why... but you'll be no better than Skullkid, if you keep on like this and give in to it. You'll be one mask away from causing a catastrophe, because you're too busy chasing your old friends instead of being happy with your new ones!"

Unable to bite back on her temper, she let it all go, hoping that her terse way of caring would jostle him enough to see sense. "Stop focussing on what you can't have, and look at what you've achieved despite that! You're going to save this world, and everyone in it. No matter what their problems are, they'll get through them because they're _alive_, and it'll all be thanks to you. You don't need to solve all their problems for them, Link, the fact that you're giving them a tomorrow in which to do it themselves is enough!"

The child shining in Link's eyes seemed grow brighter with every word she said, each blink leaving them drier than before and filling him with the reassurance he was so often denied. He missed Navi dearly, but he knew Tatl was right—she would never have left his side, if the choice was merely his... But perhaps, as he thought on it, this was exactly why she did. He had never been a Kokiri, and though he was at peace with that, he knew he still feared growing into a man. Men could not rely on fairies to guide them and fill them with confidence when they faltered. It was a child's hand that needed to be held so, and he could not remain a child forever. He was destined to grow up, and running from it was simply not possible.

He had to face his adulthood—his fears, and his future—with the courage he was famed for. Navi had left him not because she wanted to, but because he needed to recognise it wasn't her help that made him a Hero. She had played her part, and it was time for him to stand on his own two feet.

It was, and had always been, Link's spirit that saw him through the odds, and he needed to have more faith in it.

This second guessing himself was exactly what Navi had sought to avoid upon parting with him, he realised, and for that he was slightly ashamed. But gazing up at the new fairy to grace his side, he was truly grateful to Tatl for finishing off what Navi never could. Where Navi would simply placate the child, knowing she could do nothing more, Tatl was ready to slap sense into a young man instead.

When Link left this land, he knew he would still miss Navi, and now Tatl as well... but instead of clinging desperately to them like a crutch in times of weakness to come, he would cherish their memories and hold to the lessons they imparted to sustain him.

Just as Navi had intended him to.

As the wheels turned in the boy's head, finally clicking into place, Tatl softened when she saw the change, knowing she had gotten through. "Mikau, the Butler's son, Darmani, even your friend... sometimes you can't avoid losing something, but you _can_ make surethat it isn't lost in vain." the tiniest hint of pride shimmered lightly as she finished, then. "...So, suck it up. We've got a moon to catch."

After what seemed like a small eternity, his childish features bereft of any hope in that time, a small twitch to his cheeks broke the spell of sadness. It only grew from there; small at first, the curve of a smile claimed his face to brighten it into one that Tatl recognised. A final sniff to clear his nose saw the boy take back to the other masks, gathering them into his arms with a newfound sense of purpose, and finally his Ocarina would be plucked up from the sands as he stood.

"...Thanks, Tatl. You're a good friend." he offered privately, a whisper between them in the night as he gave his best lopsided smile to her, and raised the ocarina to his lips. "Well, then... I guess we better get going."

Though the fairy had no smile to return him with, a slightly brighter glow than usual lit up her wings with the chime of a bell, though she hid it well with her usual impatience.

"...It's about time."


End file.
